Discord's Little Helper
by Musafreen
Summary: Wherein Octavian attempts a semi-hostile takeover of his Camp during a war. Chronological drabbles in an assumed HoO timeline. Written for the BlackSCrazy's 5 Drabbles Challenge.
1. Reorganization

**Notes:** Written for the 5 drabbles challenge at the _Of Prompts and Challenges_ Forum.

* * *

**Title: **Reorganization

**Prompt:** Character exploration during the first chapter of MoA; _Octavian_

**Word Count:** 482

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There were three things Octavian hated. They were, in ascending order of degree of hate; poetry, the colour orange and people who weren't him but were in a position of power.

(And contrary to popular opinion, teddy bears all over the world did _not_ feature on the list. Really. Why would people not believe him about this?)

With that Jackson kid's sudden and unforeseen and _completely unfair_ rise to power, the last category had just been doubled fifteen hours ago. He hated how the guy was a lot like Jason (who, for the record, was _supposed_ to be dead and far, far away from his planned rise to power), except for those bits where Octavian was starting to wish he was more like Jason because Jason had never been quite so openly snide at him. Or annoying. And at least Jason had been _Roman_.

And that had been _before_ the giant flying ship came out of nowhere and he had ducked into a colonnade to avoid getting deep-fried or something by the thing because seriously- there was no way that could have been friendly, whatever Jackson said.

The miraculous reappearance of Jason freaking Grace that followed right after did _not_ help. And all right, so Jackson had said he was going to come, but it was one thing to hear him say it, and quite another to see Golden Boy in person. And It was just as bad as he remembered. The huge flying ship somehow managed to fade into the background when Jason climbed down from the thing, all golden and shining and in the coveted purple toga and looking so incredibly heroic that he felt his hands twitch for a knife and something to mutilate just for the principle of having _someone_ protest against him.

Well, someone apart from Terminus, who screeched at everyone because he was Terminus. Terminus was kind of predictable that way. He was screaming and attacking and being all trigger-happy and generally indulging his paranoia by raging at the Greeks.

Octavian shook himself and took a deep breath. He had worked his whole life towards his goal, and he was not going to be thwarted by anybody. Calm down, look at the opportunities involved instead of sulking, and _listen_.

...

So. Terminus was hinting that there was some sort of history with the Minerva (_Athena_, he corrected himself sourly) girl. And the other two Greeks were clearly not happy with the reception they'd gotten. And Jason, for once, seemed to be at a loss, unable to mediate between his old home and his new allies.

This, Octavian decided, leaning back and allowing himself a smile (a small, grim one; nothing too obvious), might not be a bad hand after all. It depended on how well he could play the game; he just needed to be a _little_ bit more careful this time…


	2. Disruption

**Title: **Disruption

**Prompt:** Random word; _Spa_

**Word Count:** 485

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It turned out that there had been a very good reason for the Greeks and Romans being kept separate and uninformed of each other. Tensions were high, ancestories were insulted and people simply did not get along with each other. The only things that had prevented outright chaos were the Chase girl visibly reigning in her obviously volatile temper at every potential explosion point and Reyna being her usual infuriatingly levelheaded and diplomatic self.

Until now, anyway.

Because while Jackson was almost as infuriatingly heroic as Jason, his tact was far below second-grade level. And for Reyna, already facing the prospects of having lost her longtime friend and crush to a new Aphrodite girl (that must sting, for a war-child) and losing her Praetorship to the newly returned Jason, an offhand comment about some Spa had been the last straw.

"Do you know what you _did_ to us?" Reyna snarled at Jackson (snarled- Jupiter's Beard, little-miss-stoic _snarled_- oh this was _brilliant_), her automatons growling behind her.

"I didn't-"

"You were thoughtless, yes," Reyna snapped back, "I realized that about the same time you let out the most bloodthirsty monsters in naval history. You were ignorant. But that does not give you the right to _dismiss_ your mistakes."

Oh, it wouldn't last, of course. Everyone loved Jackson and Reyna was a rock and the fact that she had even let her temper get the better of her for a moment proved that underworld contacts for the Nemesis Essence (TM) (because if they could bring in Greek help, it was fair game for him too) had been legit. A little more sprinkled over the Senate and he could start his own little localized bloody revolution. He really needed to plan that out one of these days.

He couldn't quite keep the entire grin from his face, and a chastised Jackson shot him a highly suspicious look from the corner of his eye. But Chase would never let him do something quite that foolhardy, not with the tensions as high as they were in Camp right now. Not when one disagreement between the Greeks and the Romans could completely destroy the flimsy truce that was barely holding up between them now. And with tensions this high, with Reyna's outburst, the cauldron was going to be bubbling over any day now.

Octavian did not readily admit it when he went wrong. With enough words and gestures and smiles applied just at the right junctures, you made sure that people thought they had misunderstood your original interpretations and predictions. He rarely had the _need_ to do such a thing.

But this one he could happily admit- him being wary of the Greeks had been massively shortsighted. It turned out that he actually loved the Greeks. He couldn't remember a time he'd had this much fun in his entire _life_.


	3. Guards

**Notes:** So, I had a perfectly fine prompt before I decided to go and mess it up by trying to fit it into a sequence. So it's become less romance and more pre-romance-friendship. And less humor and more inserted snark because apparently that is how I write Octavian. Also, word limit is a bitch when you have situations that beg for explanation.

/winces and ducks head

Will write a fairly reasonable Rachel/Nico to make up for this sometime, I swear.

* * *

**Title: **Guards

**Prompt:** Pairing and genre; _Rachel/Nico, Humor_

**Word Count:** 498

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If he had to pick a Greek he would happily stab in his sleep, it would be Jackson. There were just too many glares directed his way for it to be anyone else. But this girl- the mortal who walked amongst demigods simply because of some demented old spirit- well, she was deserving of an entirely new version of scorn altogether.

"Go away, Octavian," she sighed, "You're not fooling anybody."

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, "I'm just here to make sure everyone is all right."

_Everyone_ being most of the seven, and many of their allies. Weakened from battle and just barely holding on to being awake and polite and reasonable. It would have been a perfect opportunity to sow some of that discord.

"... Right."

"I find your lack of faith to be disturbing."

"Great. I find you disturbing, TB-killer. We're even."

He was not going to be thwarted by a mortal with ideas above her station.

"You shouldn't even be here," hands moved to the steel dagger in his folds.

Her eyes flicked to his robes, and narrowed.

"In fact, I think you should-"

"Leave her alone!"

Octavian blinked. The Hades kid (Messenger of Pluto, his ass- he _knew_ there had been something wrong with that boy) had dragged himself out of bed, bandages and injuries-of-prolonged-kidnapping and all, and was attempting to glare up at him and threaten him with a giant black sword.

Six hours and one surprisingly one-sided battle ago, that might not have scared Octavian.

"But I'm not doing anything," he told the kid. Blankly. And let go of the hilt.

The little brat growled. Octavian tried to look properly chastised, because the alternative was rolling his eyes.

"Seriously. I'm not doing anything. Wouldn't even dream of intruding into your territory. You can keep her."

He had meant it as a joke, honestly. Something to throw the mortal off balance (because dammit, _another_ ruined plan and he was getting really sick of those) and make the kid squeak.

He did not expect the more pronounced silence that came on the wake of his statement.

The kid was blushing. The mortal was fidgeting. They were both acting like he hadn't said anything of significance at all, no sir.

"Are you-" Octavian asked, because seriously, this was just horribly fascinating.

"No!"

"Of course not-"

"Then what-"

"It's complicated," the kid said shortly.

"It's nonexistent," the mortal insisted. But Octavian noticed she was hovering around the kid waiting to catch him in case he fell or something, and that the denial had been a little more vehement than it had to be.

A few more seconds of significant silence and Octavian resisted the urge to groan. They appeared to be in mortified solidarity about not letting him in.

The universe really had to stop messing up his plans. How on earth was he supposed to get around to fixing it otherwise?


	4. History

**Notes:** Um. So while trying to figure out how to do this prompt, I got myself a new headcanon. I kindof like this new headcanon, because drama and stuff, so... XD

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**Title: **History

**Prompt:** Song; _Titanium, David Guetta feat. Sia._

**Word Count:** 498

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A twist, a blur of purple and gold, and Octavian found himself pressed against the nearest pillar.

"Jason," he re-oriented himself, and smiled as widely as he could under the circumstances, "Wasn't expecting to see you here."

Silence.

"You should probably let go of me now."

Jason's eyes narrowed (finally, an _expression_) and he shoved him away. Octavian grunted, but managed to catch himself.

Regardless of the many glitches, his plans were (as usual) working quite well overall. None of the Greeks were politicians, and none of them _began_ to knew where to defend themselves against character assassinations and verbal attacks. Put Jackson and Reyna in a little too much close proximity and Chase would be visibly affected. Chase was Jackson's Achilles heel, and anything affecting her was sure to affect him. McLean and Valdez were boiling pots just waiting to spill over, and all it took to make either of them unstable was insinuating that Jason (understandably) cared little for them. Really, it was all so ridiculously simple that he was beginning to get bored.

(Granted, the Oracle girl was just the littlest bit more savvy than he expected (finishing school status drama, he'd heard her mutter to Chase), but that was one lone voice of reason whose opinions were rarely counted because well- _mortal_.)

His glee must have shown on his face (he always let his guard down around Jason; it didn't matter with him), because then there was a pained sigh.

"Stop it," Jason told him.

"Stop _what_?"

"This. Being _you_. Stirring up trouble," Jason sighed, "We're in the middle of a _war_, Octavian."

"Exactly," Octavian rolled his eyes, brushing off imaginary lint from his clothes, "And the last thing you need in a war is a collection of high-strung hotheads leading the crack team. You _know_ I could do better than them."

"Not worth the price, and you know it. And stop _baiting_ them!"

"Who?"

"You know who!"

His arguments with Jason always, always devolved into juvenile phrases, like two five year olds in a snit. It was just one of those things.

"Your love life is plenty messed up without me interfering, buddy."

"Then _don't._"

Octavian shrugged, "You know me better than that."

He never tried to manipulate Jason. Jason knew exactly how his mind worked from _before_. A mistake on his part. Conquerors could not afford to be friends.

But sometimes, when they argued and glared like this, he liked to resurrect his optimism. Just so he could watch it get shot down again, he suspected.

_Back down. Back down and join me. Accept my authority. Be my friend again._

_Please._

But of course, he wouldn't. Jason had his principles and his bloodline, Octavian had his pride and his ambition. Neither of them was going to give, and both of them were going to go down fighting the other.

"I wish it wasn't like this."

"So do I," Octavian shrugged and turned away, "But if wishes were horses, etcetera. Good night, Jason."


	5. Sacrifices

**Notes:** I'm done, I'm done, I'm done! XD Three days past the due date, but that's honestly an achievement for me.

And I know, this is slightly cliffhangery for an ending, but a complete story of what happens and how would mean a multichapter fic with a plot, and I simply do not have the resources to attempt such a thing. :/ Apologies.

But thank you all for sitting through this collection of randomish drabbles. :) They were fun to write.

* * *

**Title: **Sacrifices

**Prompt:** Adjective; _Ambition_

**Word Count:** 496

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The Senatorial chamber is halfway near spooky at this time of the night. Columns jump out from shadows with no warning, and the seats are less like prize and more like silent accusers. But while the work is not particularly complicated, it is delicate. Not something he would trust to a minion.

Oh yes. He had minions now. People who resented the Greeks barging into their sanctum, others who thought Jason was getting a little too cozy with their (ex) mortal enemies to ever be comfortable with them, but mostly people who were fed up with the sheer amount of drama that had been happening in the Senate lately. It made him look like the sanest option, and Romans were always willing to rally behind a cause they thought was worthy. Be it gladiator tournament green-lighting or toppling of people in power. It was genetic, really.

And with the essence of Eris- dealt out carefully- everyone was at the end of their diplomatic prowess. He adored this little bit of sparkly golden powder, he really did. Eris (Discord) was going to be his patron saint when he finally got his due. Conflict was a wonderful tool, and with his words, doubly as effective.

He dusted off the last of it (he _really _should have searched for something like this before- it was amazingly useful) and straightened up, studying the praetors' chairs in all their muted glory.

Gaea's gathering her forces. The giants are still there, and as long as she wakes, they can be rebirthed. This is probably not the time for internal conflicts.

Too bad.

His plans were coming into fruition. Reyna cannot look at McLean without her hounds growling under their breath. Valdez gets antsy every time Jason talks to his old comrades. Jason's memory is still coming in patches, and he forgets people and forgets events- and they understand the reasons why, but that doesn't stop them from trusting him any less.

Chase tries to keep them together, she really does. But she's no politician- she's too stubborn, too paranoid, too _proud_- to actually be an effective liaison. Jackson, he admits, has charisma. But that is pretty much all he has, thank the gods. He might have been in real trouble otherwise.

Oh, it's not like he's condemning the planet to destruction or anything. He knows that whatever his position, eventually the seven and everyone else will band together to fight the good fight. A small thing like a person they loathed being at the top of the commander food-chain would do little to stop that. Jason and Chase, in particular, would balk before allowing such a thing.

After all, they were heroes. Heroes did the right thing, yes?

Octavian steepled his fingers, and leaned back on the Praetor's chair –throne, really, and it might not be his yet, but it soon will be- with a smile. He had his goals, and the world could take care of itself once he had attained them.


End file.
